A Hobbitling's Mushroom Adventure
by Julie Tulips
Summary: The backstory behind Frodo's mention of his childhood antics from Shortcut to Mushrooms [Fellowship of the Ring]. Rated Kplus for canonical corporal punishment. One-shot.


"You rotten little thief!" Roared the farmer's voice.

The young hobbit's little feet carried him as fast as someone almost three feet tall could run. He would trip over the rough soil of the carefully groomed patches; the hair on his feet and head would tangle in branches of the shrubs that divided the sections of the garden; and the big blue eyes were filled with a mixture of fear, panic and a thirst for adventure. In his hands the hobbitling held an old burlap sack, filled to the brim with sweet-smelling, delectable mushrooms. The finest in the Shire, some would say. The lad held this treasure close to his heart, unable to part with his prize even for the sake of running away.

"You little rascal – "

The hobbit tripped, his ankle caught by the long and thin cane of the farmer. His face hit the ground, the brown curls on his head merging seamlessly with the soil. The mushrooms toppled and cascaded fantastically onto the earth, rolling away into grooves and down slopes. The hobbitling watched their departure with overwhelming sadness, their smell still tempting his nostrils. He had only reached out a hand to attempt to seize one when the cane left his ankle and instead flipped him over. He now lay flat on his back, facing the menacing face of Farmer Maggot above him.

"Frodo Baggins…" The man almost cackled, and for a moment, the lad thought he would be, once again, let go scot-free. "I should have known. " Maggot grabbed Frodo by his pointy ear and pulled him upright. Frodo winced, now standing on his toes to avoid any more stretching of his reddening ear than was already done. "Please, sir – I'm sorry – " He attempted in vain.

Farmer Maggot carried Frodo, by the ear and the back of the shirt, to the farm house, as the small young hobbit squirmed. He had often been threatened with a beating for various infractions before, but he never thought the cranky farmer would deliver on his promise.

Before he knew it, though, Frodo's small face was facing the floor. His legs were kicking as the farmer's cane collided with his backside, again and again. The pain pierced the hobbit's small body and tears made their way through the soil on his face and down to his moist chin. His curls bounced as he struggled to get free, enduring blow after blow from the farmer's unforgiving stick. "You – will – not – steal – my – mushrooms – again, young delinquent!"

Frodo cried, swearing on his parents' and grandparents' and friends' and even pet rabbit's lives that he would never take mushrooms from the good farmer, that he would never so much as leave his house again, much less come anywhere near Farmer Maggot's farm, and that he would rather eat rotten mushrooms all his life than again commit such a heinous crime. All the meantime Frodo was acutely aware of the strikes against his body, of the light draft cooling his skin, and of the overpowering sweet smell of mushroom emanating from the garden tools on the wooden wall.

At last, the beating stopped, and Frodo was able to pull his trouser bottoms to his waist, his cheeks glowing red from shame and tears coating his eyes. However, Farmer Maggot did not stop there. With another yank on Frodo's ear, producing a high-pitched yelp, he dragged the hobbitling into the shed. Three dogs stood there – their yellowing teeth bared, their eyes glowing, saliva stringing from the slightly open jaws. They were massive, each bigger than Frodo himself. The fur on their backs, grey and chiseled, stood in the air, and the smallest of the pack, although still gigantic, had particularly large pupils with the effect of appearing to be staring into the young hobbit's mind, knowing every misdeed that Frodo has ever committed. The hobbit flattened against the shed wall, his expression that of pure fear, suddenly unable to think. Every one of those dogs could eat him alive ten times over.

"Now, they won't attack unless I give the command, Mr Baggins," Maggot drawled. He approached the dogs and patted them on their square block-shaped heads. "So the next time this here hobbit dares step foot on my lands again, I give you full leave to do as you please with him," He announced. Frodo's eyes widened. "As for now… get him off of my property."

The dogs barked, charging at Frodo who did not need to be told twice. He ran for his life – across the path, down the road, through the sparse woods and up the hills all the way back to the river, with the dogs following him and snapping at his heels, although not intending to really hurt the hobbit. After a while, they abandoned their chase, but the hobbit ran still, all the way back home to Brandybuck Hall. He ran into his room, and only after collapsing onto his bed was he able to catch his breath. He pulled a single stray mushroom from his pocket but cast it away at once through the window – he feared the dogs would smell it and come to finish him off. After washing his hands the hobbitling at last calmed down, but it was a while until the dogs' eyes stopped appearing in his nightmares.

Frodo Baggins never stole mushrooms from Farmer Maggot again.

Indeed, he feared going anywhere near it for the next twenty years – until the fateful day when, crossing through Maggot's fields, he was not attacked but welcomed by the farmer, and given a basket-full of the glorious mushrooms he so craved.

But Frodo Baggins had now much more important things on his mind – and far darker evil pursuing him…


End file.
